


Night On the Sun

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Pre-Roadtrip, Sharing a Bed, Tenderness, slight hint at gladnoct, whichever you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: If he were stronger, he would make a bed on the couch and stay the night there, but he isn’t and so he caves to Ignis’ insistent tugging and climbs into the bed.A night out for Noctis' birthday ends in pleasant surprise - for Prompto, who escorts an endearingly tipsy Ignis home, and for Ignis, who wakes up with him in his arms.





	Night On the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> It's basically tradition at this point for me to post fanweek things late, whoops. Anyway, this is a bunch of sap and I can think of no better way to kick off another year of writing, I hope you enjoy! Title is from the Modest Mouse song.
> 
> Day Three: Bed Sharing

“Here we are!” Prompto elbows his way through the crowd to set the drinks down on their table with a clatter, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. 

The table was already sticky beneath Ignis’ elbows when they sat down - much to his internal disgust - and he shifts a rolled sleeve up higher to make sure it’s safe. Gladio scoots out of the rounded corner booth to let Prompto in next to Noctis, who grins.

“Time to get your birthday really started!”

Ignis might have taken offense - he’d grilled a beautiful Barramundi for him to open gifts over - but he knows how much Noctis has been looking forward to a night out.

The club is on the quieter side of town, with just enough of a crowd to blend in with, and their spot in the corner affords them a sense of privacy. Even so, Ignis does another swift perimeter check, eyes sweeping across the room through the dim lighting and neon signs. There are a few plain-clothed Crownsguard stationed about the room, blending in easily if you don’t know what to look for.

From across the table, Gladio catches his gaze. “Here,” he says, and pushes over two of the shot glasses with a smirk. “You need this more than me.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re insinuating.”

“Well, I get out more often than you do.” Gladio picks at the label on his beer, grinning when Ignis scoffs. “It’s no hardship to be the sober one for tonight. You need to relax.”

Prompto throws his arm around Ignis’ shoulder, tugging him close. He’s absurdly warm, the solid line of his shoulder flexing as he sways, and it’s hard not to lean into his touch. 

“C’mon guys, let’s toast. To Noctis!” he cheers, loud enough to be heard but low enough that the bass of the music serves as cover. “For making it this far, even though he swore that last math test before graduation was going to kill him.”

“To Noctis, who we swore _we_ were going to kill before said test,” says Gladio, clinking his bottle against Prompto’s glass.

“Hey!” Digging an elbow into his side, Noctis raises his glass and says, “To you guys, for sticking with me this long.”

“Like we had a choice.” 

It’s often a sore point for Noctis when it comes to them, but Gladio reaches out to ruffle his hair, the touch softening into reassurance, and he leans into it.

Prompto laughs, the sound shaking through him and into Ignis, whose stomach flutters at the noise. “Speak for yourself.”

“To us,” says Ignis, lifting his glasses to join the others.

“To us.”

They echo in a chorus, clinking their glasses one last time in cheer before tossing back, the alcohol burning sharp in Ignis’ throat on the way down. It settles in his belly, warm as he leans further onto the table, and he’s both grateful and disappointed when Prompto lets go.

Gladio sets off to pick up the next round and Noctis nudges the remaining shot in Ignis’ direction. “Here Specs, Gladio was right. You deserve to relax tonight.”

“I think you’d find I’m rather relaxed already.”

“Nah,” says Prompto with a grin. “Don’t think I didn’t feel the tension in your shoulders.”

Rather than answer that with the truth, Ignis sighs and picks up the glass. There’s a smug glimmer in Noctis’ eyes, for more than one reason. When he hesitates, Noctis leans into Prompto’s side, cupping a hand to whisper loudly, “I don’t think he can do it.”

Ignis sniffs, indignant. “I’ve had far longer to develop a tolerance, unlike yourself.” 

He knows what game Noctis is playing as he leans further into Prompto’s side, but it’s nothing new; they’ve always been extremely affectionate. Still, he can’t help but wonder what it must be like to be able to give affection so freely.

“A couple years is nothing.”

“I beg to differ,” Ignis mutters, and throws back the shot.

It hits him harder than the first, limbs tingling pleasantly as the world tips on the right side of fuzzy. He feels hot in his shirt, so he undoes the upper most buttons and leans back against the cool vinyl of the booth to await Gladio’s return.

He cuts himself off after the next round, long accustomed to sticking to his limit, and the haze of the club thickens as the night drags on.

“Let’s dance!” shouts Prompto, raising his arms in the air in a way that makes his fitted shirt ride up. Ignis drags his eyes away from the strip of skin exposed as he’s ushered out of the booth. 

The others follow close behind, Prompto using his height to guide them through the room to the crowded dance floor. Noctis sidles up to Gladio immediately, a thick arm coming to rest around his waist as he tucks his face into the curve of his broad shoulders. They sway to the beat, Prompto bouncing along on his toes, and Ignis lets the crowd carry him back and forth.

When he closes his eyes, the lights strobe a kaleidoscope of colors against the dark, bass shaking down to his very core. It’s almost like being a part of a living beast, ebbing and flowing across the floor in time to the rhythm, and Ignis loses himself in the thrumming ether.

Someone bumps into his back, his eyes jerking open as he trips right into Prompto’s chest. He steadies him, touch burning against Ignis’ hip. “I got you. All right, Igster?”

Ignis blinks up at him, watches the colors flash across the canvass of his skin. His hair is wilting in the heat, but it only serves to make him that much more beautiful. When he doesn’t answer, Prompto slides an arm around his waist, helping him regain his footing and Ignis leans into the touch.

“Never better,” he says, and the smile he receives would bring the heavens to their knees.

* * *

It’s chilly outside;a refreshing drink of air as Prompto sucks in a deep breath. The streets are still alive, crowds dwindling as the hour grows later.

“You gonna be all right getting home?” Gladio asks. He’s got Noctis passed out on his back, one arm tucked behind to hold him up.

Prompto shifts Ignis’ arm across his shoulders, slipping his free grip around his waist. “Yeah, I stopped drinking a while back. I’ll get him home safe.”

Two cars pull up in the street before them, royalty registered, and Gladio heads for the first with a laugh. “I have no doubt. G’night blondie.”

Blinking in confusion, Prompto barely manages to squeeze in his goodbye before the door shuts behind them and heads for the citadel. Ignis is staring up at the sky far above them, neck craning to follow the line of towering buildings even as Prompto tugs him towards the second car.

He’s steady enough to climb into his seat, but Prompto has to lean across him to grab the buckle. The smell of his cologne is strong beneath the musk of sweat and club and Prompto pulls away to sit back in his own seat as soon as he’s sure Ignis is secure.

The driver pulls away, en route to the address Prompto asked for, and the ride settles into quiet. Streelights flit by in waves of orange, the roads half empty lines of red and green lights, and Prompto watches it go by in awe, wishing for his camera.

“Where’s Noct?”

When Prompto looks over his shoulder, Ignis is squinting at him, words curled languidly around his thickened accent.

“Gladio’s taking him home, bud,” says Prompto, and he pats his knee reassuringly. “We’re heading back to your place now.”

Ignis hums at that and says nothing more, staring down at his leg.

They pull up in front of a sleek building not long after and Prompto bids the driver goodnight before hefting Ignis out of the car and through the lobby. The bright lights of the elevator are a stark contrast to the soft edges of their night, painting them in all their disheveled glory in the mirrored walls. Prompto’s shirt is twisted under Ignis’ arm, eyeliner smudged and hair flat.

Ignis looks like sin incarnate - glistening and ruffled, shirt half-unbuttoned to showcase the line of his throat and tease a peek of collarbone beneath the glint of his necklace. The shadows cut harsh against his cheeks and jaw, and when their eyes meet, his gaze is laserpoint focused.

The small elevator grows hot and Prompto prays for it to go faster. His prayers are answered and they stagger down the hall, coming to a halt outside of Ignis’ door.

“Where are your keys, Iggy?”

“Front pocket,” he murmurs, leaning more against Prompto as his eyes flutter.

Prompto wiggles his hand between them, fighting and losing against the blush rising in his cheeks as he slips a hand into Ignis’ pocket. He breathes a sigh of relief when he brushes against the metal teeth of his keyring and pulls it free.

They fall into the entryway and he settles Ignis down onto the front step, toeing off his shoes and placing them neatly side by side. Ignis plucks sorrowfully at his own laces in a way that would look like pouting if Prompto didn’t know him better.

“I’ve got them,” he says with a smile, and carefully undoes each shoe. When he looks up, Ignis is studying him, green eyes keen behind the rim of his glasses. “What is it?”

Ignis raises a hand and presses his fingertips to the apples of Prompto’s cheeks with a endearing intensity. He strokes along the rise of them tenderly, and when he says nothing Prompto reaches up to take his grasp and pull them to their feet. “Bedtime I think.”

They shuffle down to the bedroom where Prompto deposits him on the bed and Ignis hones in on his pants, kicking them off clumsily to slip under the covers. Prompto averts his eyes and makes for the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. When he gets back, Ignis is staring at the green vine plant set on the window sill with great interest, but he rolls up onto his elbows when he catches sight of Prompto.

“Here, drink this.”

Ignis takes the water gratefully and Prompto slides his glasses from his nose, folding them away into their case on the bedside table as he drinks. When he finishes, Prompto retreats to the kitchen to refill it again and sets it beside the glasses case.

“Okay,” he says, “I’m heading home. You gonna be okay?”

“No.”

“No? You feel sick?”

“No.” Ignis frowns. “Come here.”

Prompto sits on the edge of the bed, eyebrows shooting up when Ignis takes his hand. “Stay here,” he says. “S'too late.”

“I - what?”

“Stay.”

Ignis scoots over to make room, the sheets whisper against his skin, and Prompto’s eyes flutter at the thought of lying down.

If he were stronger, he would make a bed on the couch and stay the night there, but he isn’t and so he caves to Ignis’ insistent tugging and climbs into the bed. Under the covers, he kicks his shorts free to fall to the floor and leans over to turn off the light. Ignis’ hand finds his again, across the hills and valleys of sheets, and Prompto lies there wide awake until his breathing evens out. He squeezes Ignis’ hand gently and follows.

* * *

The sun is much too bright when Ignis wakes and he groans, curling further into the firm pillow in his arms. It’s warm and smooth, a pleasant buzz beneath his skin as he slips back towards the edge of slumber.

“Iggy,” someone says, and he grunts. “Iggy, I gotta pee.”

That makes him pause, blinking blearily in the too-bright sunshine. Prompto’s face is entirely too close, the violet blue of his eyes peering over the curve of his shoulder.

“Oh,” he says, and lets go.

Prompto scurries to the bathroom and Ignis stares at his empty arms in disbelief. He’s still wearing his shirt and underwear, which is a good sign, but his mind is tripping over the fact that Prompto was _here_ in his _bed_ \- in his _arms._

The water shuts off and when Ignis glances up, Prompto’s hovering uncertainty in the doorway. Hating that he’s the cause, Ignis lifts the corner of the comforter in invitation and Prompto hesitantly patters across the floor to ease back under the warmth.

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” he says, smoothing down the edge of the blanket.

“It’s no trouble,” says Ignis, only half-lying. His thundering heart in his chest would disagree. “Thank you for seeing me home safely.”

Prompto grins. “Took a lot to get you up here.”

Ignis’ stomach drops out, heat rushing to his cheeks as he remembers - the dancing, the way he leant into Prompto, the staring, the _keys_ \- and he promptly buries his head beneath his pillow. The muffled sound of Prompto’s laughter still drips warmth along his spine and Ignis jolts at the cold touch along his legs.

“Shiva’s ice, Prompto! I’ve half a mind to dig you out some socks."

“I’m good,” he says, and wiggles his toes. “Got you to come out of hiding though.”

A hand comes up between them, gently brushing the hair out of Ignis’ eyes, and when he looks up he freezes. Prompto’s gaze lingers, soft in the early morning haze that borders fantasy and reality. He trails his fingers down the bridge of Ignis’ nose, skirting across his cheek and jaw to the bow of his lips. Without thinking, he licks them, tongue brushing Prompto’s touch.

“Ignis,” he says, the word as soft as a breath.

Unsure, Ignis reaches out to rest a hand against the warmth of Prompto’s side. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he says, and presses forward slowly.

The sound of his heart fills the room, loud in the tentative quiet of the morning, and when Prompto doesn’t stop him Ignis closes the space between them. It’s a tender thing, brought to life between them with shaky hands and gentle lips. Prompto melts into his arms, arching against his chest as he kisses back with endearing eagerness. Tilting his head, Ignis deepens it, falling further into the blurred space of the golden sunshine across their pillows. They kiss until his lungs ache for air, and longer, until Prompto pulls away with a gasp.

His cheeks are flushes, hair mussed into an ironic copy of his painstaking style. “I’m not still dreaming am I?”

“I should hope not,” says Ignis, “or I’ll be sorely disappointed when you wake.”

Prompto giggles, wrapping his arms around Ignis in question until he pulls him close. Outside the window, the city is waking; life is moving on, the world spinning forward. Eventually they’ll have to get up, dress and eat, and talk about _this_ \- whatever it may grow to be - but for now Ignis burrows deeper into his sheets until their breaths slow and synch in time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know down below if you enjoyed <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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